


If At First You Don't Succeed

by sabaceanbabe



Category: True Blood
Genre: Awesome Ladies Ficathon, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-02
Updated: 2010-07-02
Packaged: 2017-10-10 08:53:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/97874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sabaceanbabe/pseuds/sabaceanbabe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>She had met him at a truck stop and the way he looked at her, like she was the greatest thing since Ben & Jerry's ice cream…</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	If At First You Don't Succeed

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the [Awesome Ladies Ficathon](http://ineffort.livejournal.com/199061.html) being hosted at [](http://ineffort.livejournal.com/profile)[**ineffort**](http://ineffort.livejournal.com/)'s journal for [](http://stainofmylove.livejournal.com/profile)[**stainofmylove**](http://stainofmylove.livejournal.com/)'s prompt: _practice makes perfect_. This is a somewhat edited version of the comment fic posted there.

The first time was just a mess. There was no other way to describe it. Oh, it had started out okay. Kind of fun, in a power-trippy sort of way.

She had met him at a truck stop and the way he looked at her, like she was the greatest thing since Ben &amp; Jerry's ice cream (Cherry Garcia was just the BEST)... Well, that look in his eyes had made her feel almost like a real girl again. The way Hoyt made her feel. Or the way he used to, before she'd gone after his mama. She wouldn't've killed her. She'd just wanted to scare her a little and make her stop saying all those mean things to her and Hoyt.

Anyway, she'd been so hungry and he was right there, the trucker, and he would've let her do just about anything to him. At first, when she got up into his truck, all she could hear was Bill's voice inside her head, telling her that the synthetic blood was all she needed. But the man's skin had smelled like sunshine and motor oil (just a little) and beer. She'd leaned into that smell, especially the sunshine. One little lick couldn't hurt, right? Just a taste?

But she hadn't been able to stop herself. Her fangs had popped out without her even noticing. The blood had filled her mouth and it was nothing like Bill's bottled blood. It had been electric _life_ coursing down her throat and into her veins, pumping richer and fuller with each beat of the trucker's heart.

How was she supposed to know that she had to stop before his heart slowed down too far? And how fast was too slow anyway? For that matter, how was she supposed to know how to stop at all? All Bill had ever told her when she asked about what she was supposed to do was that there was no need to importune (she'd had to look that one up in the dictionary) a human for blood when they could go to the grocery store for their needs, just like anyone else.

This second time was better, though, not so messy, but it still wasn't going quite the way she thought it would. She tried to follow Pam's advice, but before she knew it, the boy was lying motionless on the ground and Jessica felt absolutely terrible about it. He wasn't dead, though. She heard his heart beating, fluttering in his chest like a little bird's, and she heard the blood moving in his veins even as she felt it moving in her own. He wasn't like the trucker.

So she dragged him back out to his car and shoved him into the passenger seat before getting behind the wheel herself. The boy had left the car running when he'd come to the door to ask directions to Sookie's place (she'd ordered a large bacon and green pepper pizza), so all Jessica had to do was put it into reverse and back it out to the road.

She parked the car and flipped on the flashers, then got out, maneuvering the boy into the driver's seat. Once she had him sitting behind the wheel, she made sure his heart was still beating, his chest still rising and falling with each breath. She dialed 9-1-1 on the boy's cell phone. When the operator came on the line, she made her voice as deep as she could and said, "Help me." Hoping the woman would think she was the boy, she left the cell phone in his lap, the call still open, and then she sprinted back up to the house. She did _not_ want to be there when the police came to check on him.

Next time would be even better, she promised herself. Next time would go according to plan. But maybe she should see if Pam would go with her...


End file.
